


Together

by the_original_n_chan



Series: Welcoming the Wolf [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Excessive Amounts of Come, Gore, Gratuitous Nazis, Knot but No Knotting, Licking, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 05, Shapeshifting, Size Difference, Size Kink, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Werewolf Eliot Spencer, Werewolf Sex, so much licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_original_n_chan/pseuds/the_original_n_chan
Summary: Parker doesn't think there's anything wrong with kissing a werewolf. Eventually, Eliot and Hardison agree.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Series: Welcoming the Wolf [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641973
Comments: 20
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Part 1 of this story contains graphic violence. Part 2 contains full-bore, enthusiastic, get-your-freak-on werewolf sex featuring Eliot in his hybrid form. Please govern yourself accordingly!
> 
> (If you want to read the sex while avoiding the violence, read part 1 up to "Nazis" and then jump to part 2.)

It started because she’d been bored. Hardison was doing an hours-long thing with his little internet friends—they were in a computer tower fighting demons, which made her uneasy, so she mostly stuck to the living room. (Hardison had promised her that he’d destroy evil safely and responsibly. She was going to hold him to that.) Happily, she’d managed to convince Eliot not just to hang out with her, but to do so in his manwolf form, which was awesome. It was like having not just the biggest but the _best_ stuffed animal ever (sorry, Bunny), because not only was he huge and furry and huggable, but he could hug her back (if he felt like it), and he could answer when she talked to him (even if it mostly wasn’t in words), and they could do actual things together with no pretending necessary.

So far she had:

  * braided his hair (he’d made complainy noises, but she knew he secretly liked it);
  * laid on his back while sketching out some loose plans for jobs, both Leverage-related and personal (There was a special exhibition of crowns and other royal stuff coming up. She’d never stolen a real crown before. So much gold, so many gems—would she keep it? Sell it? Hmm.);
  * eventually fallen asleep, still on his back;
  * woken up to play a couple of rounds of that rolling-stuff-up game with him, leaning comfortably back against his chest (and giggling a little when his big fingers fumbled with the controller).



They were just finishing a late-night meal of boneless wings (two buckets for Eliot, and another one split between the three of them), and she was planning to put on a movie. She’d let Eliot choose—he’d been super patient about being her pillow, and honestly it had probably been pretty boring. And he was stuck being wolfy until sunrise, so it wasn’t like he could go out and find something more interesting to do.

Thinking about how good he was to her—to them—warmed her. Glancing over at him, she smiled. He was trying to lick barbecue sauce off the sides of his mouth, which was pretty funny to watch. And he’d missed a spot.

“Here.” Cupping his face, she wiped the smear away, then, for lack of anything better to do with it, sucked the sauce off her thumb. Eliot wrinkled his nose at her. “What?” It wasn’t like she’d done anything super weird. Now, if she’d licked the sauce up off the floor, _that_ might’ve been gross, but it was just Eliot’s mouth. She and Hardison had kissed frosting off each other’s lips before—and other places, too. That had been a fun night.

The fur on Eliot’s muzzle was short and wonderfully velvety. She stroked his face again. Why couldn’t beard stubble feel like this? Even his whiskers were sleek and smooth. On impulse, she dropped a kiss on top of his nose. The fur was slightly more bristly there, but not unpleasant. And when she experimentally smooched the black part at the end, it felt like textured leather, not human skin. He whuffed, ducking his head, and she grinned at his reaction.

What would it be like to kiss his mouth in this form? She considered the logistics. The way his face tapered made a frontal approach seem potentially problematic; tilting her head, she angled in from the side. His upper lip drooped down over the lower one, and it was so soft, loose and yielding under the gentle pressure she applied to it, the silky plushness of his fur even nicer against her lips than she’d imagined. She smiled as she drew back a little, their breaths still mingling, the first hint of a familiar sexy heat kindling in her, tingling and purring along her nerves. Eliot _rrrrr_ ed at her, tugging against her grip on his cheek ruff, and she laughed. “What?” she repeated, teasingly. She didn’t know why he’d tensed, but it was silly—Eliot never not liked kissing. Dipping back in, she pressed her mouth to his again, more firmly this time, searchingly, her lips parting to pluck at his—

—and Eliot _shoved_ her, with enough force that she fell over backward and had to catch herself on her elbows. He twisted away, shrinking down into his four-legged form as he moved, until all she had was a fleeting glimpse of his tail disappearing as he slunk quickly behind the couch.

What the _hell_.

Scrambling up onto the seat, she just caught him trotting out of the room, and she vaulted over the back to follow. She found him under the dining table, curled up into a tight ball. Crouching down, she pulled one of the chairs out of the way, and he glared at her. “What’s wrong?” she demanded, and maybe she should be gentler about her asking, but he didn’t have to push her away like that! _Rude._ “What did I do?” He didn’t say anything—which, of course, he couldn’t—but when she went to crawl under the table with him, he _snarled_ at her, lips drawing up and tight to show all his pointed teeth, and she froze. This wasn’t _stop that_ or _knock it off, Parker_ —this was _do NOT touch me_. After a moment, she swallowed her shock and unstuck her muscles. “ _Fine_ ,” she said, her heart hammering. “ _Be_ that way!” Standing, she shoved the chair back into place and stalked off.

Fear-anger had turned into grumpy-sad-sulk by the time she came up behind Hardison, and she draped herself over him with dramatic limpness, sighing as she rested her chin on his head. “Hey, babe,” he murmured. He stroked her arm where it crossed his chest. “How’s it going?”

“Eliot’s being weird,” she complained. She eyed the computer screen warily, but there was nothing evil-looking on it at the moment. Since she wasn’t interrupting any world saving, she shifted to put her head on his shoulder instead.

“How so?”

“He’s hiding under the table and won’t let me talk to him.”

“Oh? What did you do?” Hardison singsonged, grinning, and she bristled. Why did he have to just assume that she’d done something? On the other hand...she _had_ done something. She slumped, admitting possible involvement.

“I just kissed him,” she grumbled.

“Kissed hi— _kissed_? On the....” Twisting around, he scrunched up his face at her. “ _Dog_ lips? _Really?_ ”

“What?” She frowned. Again—those were Eliot’s lips. Not gross. (Also not a dog.) But clearly she was missing something, and it gave her pause. “Was that wrong?”

Hardison licked his own lips—probably unconscious habit, it was something he did when he was thinking, sometimes, but her attention fixated on it and filed the image away. More data for the puzzle of imponderable differences. “Not _wrong_ , but...yeah, I could see how Eliot might freak out a little.” Smiling, he petted her in reassurance. “Just let him be, and you guys can talk it out tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she sighed. She kissed his cheek in thanks—she knew that was almost definitely okay—then wandered off.

As she passed the dining area, she couldn’t help taking a peek under the table—and Eliot was gone.

_Where...?_

And okay, she was supposed to be leaving him alone, but that didn’t have anything to do with keeping track of where he was. She searched the apartment, even the places she was pretty sure a wolf couldn’t get into—or, even if he could, he wouldn’t fit—but he wasn’t anywhere. And he couldn’t get out, he didn’t have any hands—

Oh. He could. He _did_. He’d just have to shift to the manwolf long enough to open a door or window and then close it behind himself. (Window, probably—he’d be less likely to run into anyone that way.)

And now she was pissed off again. How could he just run away like that, leaving her hanging?

Well. No point in going after him now, not when he wouldn’t be able to explain himself. But she for sure was going to have words with him later, come daylight.

When morning finally arrived and she went looking, she found Eliot exactly where she’d thought he’d be: back at his own house, in the basement, pummeling a heavy bag into submission. She stood on the steps, leaning up against the railing, just observing until he gave the bag one last hard punch and then put a hand on it to still its swinging. He glanced at her then, though she knew he’d actually been aware of her the entire time.

She’d been going to wait and make him break the silence, but her original annoyance had lost its force somewhere along the line, worn away by the friction of time and sleep, and of standing there watching while Eliot was being so perfectly himself, making her ache because things were off-kilter between them. The niggling irritation that remained was because she was anxious and uncertain, and she shouldn’t have to be.

“Are you still mad?” she asked. She tried to put some challenge into it, but instead it came out disappointingly plaintive.

Eliot exhaled. “I ain’t mad,” he muttered. “Just—don’t do that again, all right?”

“Do what?” It was the kissing, she knew, but she wanted him to spell out exactly what the problem was, just so they were both clear.

He stared at her, incredulous, as if she was the one who wasn’t making any sense, then shoved his sweaty hair out of his face with both hands, his expression twisting into a frustrated grimace. “Don’t, don’t _kiss_ me like that!” She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him, but instead of elaborating, he just got more agitated. Not helpful at all.

“Like how?” she pressed.

“Like— When I’m the _wolf_!” He was pacing now, full-on gesticulating, all his movements tense and abrupt. “I’m not _human_ like that, Parker! It’s wrong. It’s just _wrong_.”

“But _why_ —”

“ _Because it’s bestiality!_ ” His shout was like a slap; it made her head ring, shocked empty. Then the pain hit, and with the anguish there came anger.

“You’re not a beast!” she snapped.

He gave her a nasty smile. She loathed it. “Kinda am, darlin’,” he drawled.

“No, you’re not!” She flung the words at him. “Not in any of your forms.” He flinched, surprise softening his expression, leaving it open, vulnerable, and she whirled away from that startled, faltering look, stomping off up the stairs before he could recollect himself and start talking again. She wasn’t going to argue with him—this wasn’t an _argument_ , she was absolutely and objectively right, and if she _ever_ somehow managed to meet the younger Eliot whose stupid decisions had made Eliot so twisted up inside himself, she was going to stab him.

...a little. Just a little.

After all, she didn’t want to erase their Eliot from the time stream.

“Nazis,” Hardison was grumbling. “Why did it have to be Nazis?”

Why? Because that was the bizarre and sometimes really shit luck they had. Eliot leaned his head back against the rock outcropping they were using for concealment and blew out a frustrated breath. Parker ran personal jobs from time to time, to keep her hand in. Fair enough—he did too, though a lot less often than he used to. But how the _hell_ had she managed to get herself caught up in something as—as _ridiculous_ as this?

( _“Hey, guys! So I went to look at this exhibit of royal regalia—by which I mean, you know, I was going to steal something from it—and there was this really cool golden cup with all these gems on it, and while I was holding it these other guys came in to steal it, and they stole me too, and they said something about a ritual, and now they’re gonna kill me as soon as they figure out I’m not a virgin!”_

 _“Wait, a what and a.... Parker. Did you—did you try to steal the_ Holy Grail _?”_

_“No! ...yes? Maybe, I don’t know, look, just—oh shoot—”_

_“What ‘oh shoot,’ what is that—”_

_“Just—come and get me!”_

_Click._ )

Goddamn Nazis—more accurately, neo-Nazis—who had obviously seen one too many Indiana Jones movies and completely missed the point of all of them. And goddamn Parker, who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and been mistaken for, whatever, some kind of Aryan princess or mystical occult figure or something.

Craning his neck, he took another quick look out from behind the rock, grimly surveying the tactical situation in front of them. It hadn’t improved. He hadn’t really expected it to.

Because as if Nazis weren’t enough to deal with, it turned out that their leader was a super-rich dude who had his very own _castle_ , perched up on a rocky outcropping way out in the middle of fuck-all nowhere.

...okay, so it was a small castle, but still. Late medieval– or early Renaissance–inspired, probably based on one in Germany or Austria, _natürlich_. He’d seen plenty just like it along the Danube. One blocky tower at the front, with the rest of the building laid out behind. And whether by design or lucky accident, the architect had positioned it for maximum defensive advantage. That tower took up the width of the crag; Parker could probably dance along the edge of the cliff to bypass it, but their chances were nowhere near as good, especially without ropes. It was no Krak des Chevaliers, but for two guys with no equipment, it was pretty damn unassailable from any direction but the front.

On the plus side, the gate was open, and the rough terrain had let them get pretty close unseen. (That and the guys standing watch on top of the tower were slacking. Probably dicking around on their phones.) So there _was_ a way in. A crappy one. But it was what they had, so they’d just have to make it work.

“Look,” he said, turning to cut off Hardison’s stream of nervous muttering, “here’s the plan. I’m gonna go in first, attract their attention. While they’re distracted going after me, you’re gonna sneak in, find Parker, and get the two of you out.”

“What? That is a _terrible_ plan. Just terrible. You’re gonna, what, charge right in there? Storm the castle all by yourself?” Hardison shook his head. “No, man. Nuh-uh.”

“You think I’m just gonna just run up and assault them?” Actually, that had sort of been the idea, but hearing it laid out in words, it did sound dumb. He revised it. “Give me some credit, okay—I’ll infiltrate. If I have to, I’ll let ’em catch me, let them get in close, and then—”

“Yeah, and it’s still one of you against we-don’t-know-how-many _armed Nazi guards_. Not that I don’t respect your skills, you got mad skills, but those are not good odds.”

“You got a better idea?”

“I still say, we could pretend to be hikers, lost hikers—”

“Yeah, and you know what, there’s a chance they might not shoot me on sight, but they will _gun you right down_ , man.”

“A _chance_ —see, that’s what I’m talking about, you may be a white guy, but there’s nothing saying they’re gonna capture you instead of just shooting you. You are _not_ just walking in there, that would be suicide.” Hardison turned his tablet, displaying the satellite image of the castle. “You see this here, this courtyard right here, this is what I believe you military types—”

“—ex-military—”

“—call a ‘kill zone.’ Now if you look over here,” he shifted the image to 3D, rotated it, “this _could_ be a back door, couldn’t it? I mean, who builds a castle without a back door to escape out of? Am I right?”

Eliot peered at the image. “Maybe. But to get there, we’d have to go all the way back down, go around the base of the mountain, and then try to find the trailhead leading up. And if we get up there, it’s probably gonna be locked.”

“A window—”

“It’s a castle, castles don’t have ground-floor windows, the whole point of a castle is to keep people out.” Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, we do _not_ have time to go over there, let alone go and come back. Every minute we waste is another minute in which they could decide to kill Parker.”

“I just—” Hardison squirmed, conflict written plain in his face, anguish in his eyes, and it touched off the short fuse of Eliot’s anger, because _goddamn it, Hardison._

“Are you putting _my_ life ahead of _Parker’s_?” he snapped, barely keeping his voice at a whisper. “ _Are_ you? Because that is _not_ how this works, that is _not_ how my _job_ works. I put myself between you two and danger. Always have, always will.”

And this right here—this was one of the reasons he’d had serious qualms about letting his relationship with Hardison and Parker slide from teammates to lovers. It blurred his role in their eyes, made him something to _protect_. He wasn’t having it. Much better—much _smarter_ —to roll things back to how they used to be: the two of them together, with him as their shadow, their guardian—at most, their friend.

Not going to happen, though, or at least not easily. What was done couldn’t be undone—they couldn’t pretend they hadn’t crossed that line. He’d let himself get in too deep, and now there was no way out that wouldn’t end in grief. (Story of his life. Seriously, you’d think he’d learn.) Hardison and Parker were at least as stubborn as he was, and had a whole lot less common sense. Trying to get disentangled from them would be harder than breaking out of a Steranko and a lot whole more painful. For everyone. Because as much as he wanted to step back so he could keep them safe, he wanted even more to stay.

_Fuck._

Well, forget all that for now. Sitting hunkered behind a rock on a mountainside with armed men between them and Parker and time running down...that was his first concern. They’d hash out the relationship stuff later. Assuming they all survived.

“I’m not crazy, okay?” he muttered, trying for reassurance, because Hardison’s kicked-puppy expression was driving him nuts. Hardison gave him a look; he ignored it. “I’m not aiming to die here. If there was a better way.... I mean, if it was night, I could go in as the wolf.” The silver bullet thing was bullshit, but he could take a lot more damage in his hybrid form and heal it way more quickly, in addition to being a hell of a lot stronger and faster. “But it’s hours until dark. We just don’t have the time.”

Hardison had gone unnaturally still, staring at him. At his wrist in particular, he realized.

“When you said, ‘if this ever comes off,’ ” Hardison said slowly, “did you mean... _ever_?”

Eliot’s mouth went dry, and his skin crawled all up along the back of his neck. Because...yeah. The curse form wasn’t bound by the darkness. Quickly he grabbed Hardison’s arm before the man did some fool thing like snatch the cuff right off him.

“If we do it like this, all those guys in there are gonna die,” he said, low and fast. “Can you live with that?”

Hardison stared at him, wide eyed, then looked away, swallowing nervously. “Do you...do you really have to...I mean, you could just maul them a little, right? I can get behind that. Or maiming, even, some maiming, that could work—”

“ _No._ ” Hardison flinched like the word was a blow, and Eliot sighed. “I can _try_. But _this_ Eliot,” he tapped his head, “ain’t gonna be the one driving. Now, I don’t care, all right, I’ve got enough blood on my hands. But you,” he faltered, “if you....”

“I ain’t no innocent either,” Hardison retorted. And that was bull—Hardison had never been where Eliot had been or done what he’d done, nothing near it—but he let the bravado ride. He was a liar too, after all.

He cared. Just not enough to keep him from straight up murdering those men in order to keep his people safe.

“Then call it,” he said. Because they were in this together, and if Hardison couldn’t find it in himself to sign off on those men’s deaths, they’d take the other road. And that was fine. But after a moment, Hardison looked away from him and nodded, short and jerky.

That was it, then. They were go.

Moving as quickly as he could without being able to stand up, Eliot shucked off his boots and the outer layers of his clothes—the rest would shred off him, but he’d at least have something to wear when he changed back. The raw mountain chill raked at his skin, but soon it wouldn’t matter. Before he could tell Hardison to back away, there was a warm hand on his arm. He glanced up to meet Hardison’s gaze. Those dark eyes searched his, and he didn’t know what Hardison was looking for, what the man was reading off of his face.

“For Parker,” Hardison said at last. His voice was cracked and rough, but steady, and Eliot nodded back.

“For Parker,” he said.

And Hardison undid the cuff.

The change hit him like thunder, smashing him to the ground as every muscle roared its pain and fury. The world went white, then dark, then—

He rose up. _Free._

Claws digging into the rocky dirt, he flung back his head and shook himself, snarled his release. Every sense was wide open, filling him with the world, waking a cold, wild hunger as expansive as the sky, stretching to the jagged horizon. His heart pounded, powerful and eager.

There was a life next to him. He swung around to look at it, breathing in its scent of hot blood and terror. It was backing away, making sounds at him.

_:: parker, eliot! save parker! ::_

( _parker._ )

( _gold of winter sun. slim fingers touching his face. a body fitted to his, laughter as they breathed each other’s breath._ )

A familiar memory, like this... _person_ was familiar. Not prey. He shifted his attention to the line of its (... _his_ ) pointing arm instead, following it toward the high place, the tower, toward the sounds of confused shouting, the distant smell of flesh.

( _castle. guards. guns._ )

( _parker._ )

Toward the hunt.

_Yes._

Spinning away, he sprang over the rocks and raced forward, four-footed and swift. The dark opening was a trap—he went up the wall instead, launching himself from toe-hold to toe-hold, nearly as quickly as he could run. Shots from above cracked off the stone around him _._ He leaped the last distance to the top of the tower, sank his claws into the two men there and ripped them open with one jerk of his arms. They fell—a pair of meaty thumps, a clatter of weapons. Red splattered the bodies, the stones, himself; he licked it off his fingers, the salt taste a bite of ecstasy bursting on his tongue, the heat of it in his mouth making him burn—with anticipation, with wanting _more_.

Other voices were yelling. Jumping up onto the parapet, he saw men running in the yard, gathering beneath him, pointing fingers and weapons. _Stupid. Stupid prey._ He dropped to the slanting roof below, ran down it, and hurled himself into their midst.

They broke so easily. Bones snapped; flesh shredded. They were helpless; he was too fast and strong, too close for their guns. In panic one tried to shoot him anyway and wounded two others before he tore off the man’s arm and then spilled his guts onto the pavement. The gleaming organs lured him, but they’d still be there when the killing was done. One man behind him—a little more cunning, a little less mindless with terror—was backing away, trying to get out of his reach, either to run or to shoot. Lashing his tail around the man’s neck, he jerked him forward. The man’s spine was snapped even before he crushed the limp body into the ground.

Stillness around him, then, except for some groans and weak stirring. Those people would die soon.

There— _running_.

He chased the movement, the screams, the fear-clumsy footsteps. One man he caught before they reached the end of the yard. The others tumbled through a door and nearly got it closed before he hooked his claws into the narrow opening. The hinges splintered as he jerked the door away from them—he threw it behind him and slid in through the gap, going low, under the line of desperate gunfire. Those few went down quickly, their legs kicked and tail-whipped out from under them, fists and elbows and claws finding all their most vulnerable places as they sprawled, helpless. He smashed the skull of the last one against the floor with a satisfying crunch, then rolled to his feet. Raising his head, he sniffed the air, sifting through the tang of blood for living prey.

_:: poulsen! what’s going on? who are you shooting? report.... ::_

The man who’d appeared in the doorway at the end of the large room was different from the rest. Still small and weak, but the tone in his voice, before it faltered into silence, had been a command. He expected to be obeyed. He was the leader.

( _the one responsible_ )

Cold anger took the place of exultation. Slowly he reared up to his full height and stared down at the man, observing the widening eyes, the quivering mouth, the old, flabby, fragile body, the shaking hand that lifted to aim a ridiculously little gun at him.

The man wasn’t even _dangerous_.

His lips drew back from his teeth in contemptuous promise. The man fired—the bullet struck like the flick of a claw, glancing along his side. A second shot found his shoulder, a minor prickle of pain as he took one step, then another, watching and waiting for the man to break. And when the man did, turning to flee from him in a staggering run, he lunged, crossing the distance to the doorway before his prey had taken more than three steps into the room beyond. The man turned, screaming, raising the gun for a last desperate shot that went wide, because he’d already punched his fist into the man’s chest. Lifting that barely there weight up to face level, he sank his teeth into the man’s throat and tore it out.

There was only one living creature left nearby, small and still, tied down into a heavy chair. A familiar scent—not-prey, and also no threat, even if it had been able to get up. Shaking the limp body off his arm, he let it fall to the floor, then crouched over it, already salivating as he considered the opened corpse.

A thin, high-pitched noise distracted him—he paused to look up. That last person was staring at him, eyes so wide the irises were nearly white ringed. Her head strained back against the chair; her breath caught in her chest, escaping in tiny stutters. Yellow hair stuck to the fear sweat on her face.

(:: _parker_ :: the man had said.)

(:: _save parker_ ::)

Growling, he shook off the memory and lowered his head again. But in that moment of hesitation a strange reluctance had hooked into him, an unpleasant twist in his stomach, like the opposite of hunger. He fought it, champing his jaws in frustration. He didn’t understand what was wrong, but something in him did, and it only rose up stronger as he resisted, pushing back hard on the urge to devour, insisting _no_.

( _no_ )

 _Why?_ He slewed his head from side to side, trying to throw off that restraint, but it wouldn’t let him go. He wanted. He _didn’t_ want. He was hungry and angry and uncomfortable, and it was _terrible_. He _hated_ it.

_Why...?_

Because she was there, he realized. 

Because she was _watching_ him.

With a snarling roar, he swatted the body aside, sending it rolling and flopping into a corner. Stalking forward, he circled her, sniffing along the arch of her neck, thrusting his nose into her hair as he inhaled her scent, trying to understand what this was, what was happening to him. Ropes had been wrapped tightly around every part of her, but she’d managed to work one hand free. Blood seeped from her grazed wrist, and he ran his tongue over it, considering her taste, as she gasped and trembled.

Somehow the rage was fading. Instead his attention caught on the ropes. He hooked a claw under one experimentally, and when he tugged at it, the strands parted. Strangely fascinated, he picked at another one and severed that as well.

:: _eliot! up here!_ :: The woman jerked her shoulder. After a moment of study, he figured out which ropes needed to be to cut to free her upper arm. As they loosened, she squirmed, and he jerked back from her sudden flailing. Reaching up, she pawed urgently at the rope around her neck, then froze as he eased his claw in between it and her skin. The whole world seemed to narrow down to his talon’s curve pressing against her soft throat, to the care with which he drew it back. When the cord parted, she turned to stare at him; her blue gaze met his, and he quickly looked away.

His ears pricked at the sounds of hurried footsteps and irregular breathing. The man from outside appeared in the doorway. His gaze flicked from the bloodied floor to the woman in the chair, and his mouth fell open.

:: _pa...parker!_ ::

The man stumbled forward, smelling of fear and sick. He threw his arms around the woman; she hooked her free arm around his neck, and they held onto each other, gasping and mumbling. Finally the man pulled back—he touched her face once, again, then started pulling at the ropes, muttering.

:: _girl, what did they do, try to mummify you?_ ::

:: _i almost got away twice. the second time, they tied me up like this._ ::

Discomfort was simmering under his skin again. It was done, and he _craved_ , and...this wasn’t for him. The scent of blood and meat sang to him, promising something better than the painful cramping inside his chest and gut. He started slinking away.

:: _eliot._ ::

Startled, he looked back. The woman was leaning forward against her bonds. Watching him. Again. The man too, this time.

:: _help us?_ :: she said.

He hesitated, struggling with conflicting urges, then slowly turned back toward them. Something in him was howling in fury, something was crying out, but in all the turmoil, there was one still point, one truth, and even though he didn’t know what it _was_ , didn’t understand any of this, he submitted. He came to where the woman sat, cut the ropes as she and the man directed him to.

 _Slice. Slice. Slice._ And with each cut, the ravening inside him quieted a little more, replaced by a dull, hollow ache, a strangely heavy emptiness. He severed the last cord around her ankles and then glanced up, almost against his will. Her eyes were reddened and wet; lingering fear smell clung to her, but she also gave off calm, and other, more complicated things. Reaching out slowly, she cupped her hands on either side of his head. Bewildered, he let her draw him in closer.

:: _i know,_ :: she whispered. Her voice was choked and scratchy, it quavered, but her hands were steady as she stroked her thumbs up along his ears. He flattened them under that gentle pressure. :: _you did it for me. thank you._ :: Bending forward, she touched her forehead to his. His face was pressed against her body; her scent enfolded him, and he groaned his confusion, a shiver rippling through him. _Longing. Pain_. He drew back, and she let him go.

The man had sat down on the floor next to the chair; he was rubbing at his face, trying to wipe away streaks of dampness. He started when he realized he was being looked at and stared back, frozen like prey. But not prey.

( _never prey_ )

He felt tired and sick and...wrong. The part of him that hated all of this snarled its desire to kill, to taste their blood, to be free. Instead he lowered his eyes. Bowing his head, he held out his arm.

The man inhaled sharply, then fumbled in his clothing. The smell of leather, the rustle and scrape as the man hitched forward, the cold tingle as the restraint came closer, and then careful fingers were fastening the bond around his wrist.

It clamped down on him, both mind and body, as icy and hard as iron, and he howled in agony as it crushed him down, twisted him in on himself, and—

—and—

— _and oh shit, oh god,_ _motherfucker, he hurt_ , his whole body locked up and spasming in protest at the curse-change, and his soul scraped raw as realization slammed into him like a car crash, the memory of all the things he’d done. Killing and finding pleasure in it, a brutal joy in his own power. The faces of all those men he’d eviscerated and torn apart. The taste of blood in his mouth. He could hardly breathe from it all.

“ _Eliot_ ,” Parker was saying, Hardison was saying, and _they had seen him._ They had seen everything.

“Sorry,” he gasped. He was huddled up against Parker’s legs, he realized, his head on her knees; Hardison’s hand was gripping his shoulder. He wanted to crawl away, but his body wouldn’t listen to him, still shuddering through the aftershocks. “Sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t, man,” Hardison breathed, like there was no strength in his voice. “I knew, okay. I knew what...what was gonna happen when you....”

Hardison hadn’t known. Not really. There was no way he could have. Now there was a shadow on his heart, a stain that nothing and no one could ever wash away.

His fault. He should’ve gone with his first plan. Better that way.

“You saved me,” Parker said fiercely. Her hand was knotted in his hair, not tightly enough to hurt, just enough that he could feel it. “You did bad things to do it. _Really_ bad things. I’m not saying it’s okay, but it’s done. And I’m not sorry to be alive, so I guess that makes me bad too.” The shift in her breath was almost a laugh. “But you already knew that, huh.”

“Babe,” Hardison started.

Ignoring Hardison, she bent forward over Eliot. “You do the hard things, the things that no one else can do,” she said softly. “And you stopped. _You stopped_. That _matters_.”

How could she—how could anyone—love him like this? Enough to see sparks of good in his darkness, beyond all deserving? A memory flashed through his mind— _You’re not a beast_ , she had snapped, _not in any of your forms_ —and his heart clenched. He’d been so horrified at himself, feeling a want for her when he was half an animal, stirred up by her soft lips and the scent of her desire. But Parker had put her arms around the monster. There was blood on her shirt from his jaws.

He dared a glance through his hair at Hardison. Hardison was wiping a hand over his mouth in one of his nervous gestures. Beneath him, he felt Parker’s weight shift slightly as she turned.

“I love you,” she said to Hardison. “I love you _so much_. But if you need to, you can walk away.”

What? No—this was _craziness_. He tried to get up, but his still-strengthless legs buckled, and Parker caught him even as he tried to push her away. “ _Parker!_ You can’t, what the hell, you can’t _choose me_ —”

“Nah, bro.” Hardison’s voice was rough but devastatingly calm. “She ain’t choosing you. She’s letting _me_ choose. There’s a difference.

“See, it ain’t me and her, and then you,” he went on. “A triangle’s got three points, and three sides connecting them, or it ain’t a thing. If I can’t accept the ways you and her connect, then I don’t belong in all of this.” Parker stiffened, and Eliot drew a breath to argue, but Hardison kept rolling forward. “But I know— _I know_ —that the two of you have things, experiences, _history_ , that you don’t share with me. You think I don’t?” There was a breath of wry laughter in those four words, along with an edge of sharpness, before his voice softened again, becoming almost wistful. “And I’m, I’m _okay_ with that. Not that I don’t wanna know all about you, but...I get it. And I’m glad the two of you have someone to share that with. I really am. ’Cause we can be different things to each other, and not love each other any less.”

Pulling himself nearer, Hardison put his hand over Parker’s, his fingers threading between hers and into Eliot’s hair. He tugged Eliot’s head close to his, and Parker leaned down to join them, so they formed a huddle.

“I love the both of you,” Hardison murmured. “In everything I know about you, and all the things you only hint about. And I ain’t never, _never_ walking away. From _either_ of you. I’m with you to the end of the line, man.” He squeezed them a little tighter. “To the end of the line.”

Was that a media reference? It was almost definitely a media reference. Sighing, Eliot slumped, closing his eyes and surrendering to their embrace. To their ridiculous, improbable love. It hurt so sweetly, burned like whiskey, like tears, and he ducked his head, treasuring the moment. Because they could only sit here for so long, and soon he was going to have to get his carcass up off this cold floor and find his clothes so they could get down from this fucking mountain.

So he could go home. With his people.

Which, really, was all that he wanted in this world.


	2. Chapter 2

All the way from the beginning of the end credits to their apartment’s front door, Alec had been fizzing with the effervescence of having just seen a really damn good movie. Del Toro did _not_ disappoint, not in any respect whatsoever, and it had definitely been worth seeing for the first time on the big screen. The only pall on what had otherwise been an amazing evening was that Eliot hadn’t come with them, but the man had wanted to rest at home and chill. That was perfectly understandable.

When they’d gotten back from Nazi Mountain, Eliot had slept for nearly twenty-four hours, which was unheard of. Alec suspected that it was emotional fatigue as much as, or more than, the physical strain of the curse-change, because he hadn’t crashed nearly as hard the first time. And for a couple of days after that, everyone had just hung around the apartment, reading or tinkering or watching comfort movies and shows, not talking that all much but staying close, and frequently checking in physically by way of little touches and some gentle leaning on each other. (And if Alec had to pop a Xanax or two in order to convince his brain to sleep through the night without giving him hideous dreams, nobody judged him for it.)

Things were starting to get back to normal, though. The night before, Parker had pressed Eliot to make them dinner; it was just a simple pasta dish, but Parker had lit up like the sun when she tasted it, and the warmth of love and happiness reflecting back to her in Eliot’s smile could have melted enough icebergs to save the Titanic from sinking. It definitely had turned Alec’s heart—nay, his entire being, body and soul—into a puddle of squishily adoring goo.

He’d felt bad about leaving Eliot behind when he and Parker went out, but Eliot had insisted that they go, and Alec couldn’t deny that he’d been dying of anticipation since the very first trailer had dropped. (Which Eliot had known, of course. He hadn’t been at all subtle about his excitement.) In any case, he was for sure going to sit Eliot down to watch the film with him at some point, so at least the man wouldn’t miss out on it entirely. And they’d all go out and do something datelike together once Eliot was feeling a bit more like himself.

Parker was already in through the door before Alec had made it halfway up the last set of stairs—she’d been a lot more anxious about Eliot than he was. He could hear her calling Eliot’s name as he came in. Her second call broke off into an “oh!” of surprise and pleased interest, which instantly perked up his curiosity. Sounded like something—or _someone_ —was waiting for them. Tossing his jacket onto the coat rack, he joined her in the bedroom doorway, and...

...well. It was definitely a surprise to see Eliot curled up on their bed in his hybrid form. (It was a king-sized bed, and he took up a _lot_ of it.) His face was turned toward them; his eyes were open, watching them. His tail waved once, diffidently, and it was a wonder that a gigantic predatory creature could look so damn uncertain and vulnerable.

Parker moved forward and knelt in front of him. Reaching out, she laid her hand along the side of his face, running her fingers through his cheek ruff, and he leaned into her touch. Some wordless communication happened there, because she hitched closer and cupped his head with both hands. “Is this okay?” she asked, and his tail stirred again. Bending forward, she kissed his forehead, then the top of his muzzle, lingering at each place. When she leaned back, she was smiling.

Alec knew, of course. About the last time Parker had kissed the wolf, and how she’d been interested in maybe exploring things further, and how Eliot had responded extremely poorly to it all. The whole story had come out as she’d laid in his arms, trying to process what had happened and what it meant. _Was what I did really bad?_ she’d asked, small and unsure, because Parker didn’t always know, couldn’t always tell.

As for his own thoughts on the matter...no, he didn’t think it was _bad_. Consenting adults and all that. He’d never gotten the whole furry thing, but if people wanted to bang all dressed up like Sonic the Hedgehog or whatever, it was certainly _weird_ but not reprehensible, and sex with an actual real-life furry was just a logical extension of that. No moral judgment there, and he’d told Parker as much.

He wasn’t sure how he actually _felt_ about the idea of Parker getting it on with wolf-Eliot. It made him a little uncomfortable, to be honest, for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of. Too much hair? Too much like sex with an actual animal? Just plain too bizarre? Too much of something that he couldn’t give her, couldn’t jibe with, that was way outside his zone? Maybe it was a little of all those things.

But _Eliot is Eliot_ , Parker had said, and he couldn’t argue with that. Eliot would love on her with all the care and attention he always showed, with all his skill and passion and tenderness. He’d be good to her, and good for her, no matter what he looked like. So that was fine. It was fine.

So when Parker looked up at him and asked, “Are you okay with this?” he was able to smile genuinely at them both.

“Sure, baby, sure,” he said. “Y’all have a good time. Just don’t shed too much on the sheets, all right?”

“Do you want to watch?” Parker blurted as he started to leave. It pulled him up short, and he turned back to stare at her. “I mean, if you don’t want to join in. Or... _do_ you want to join in?”

_Did_ he?

Um....

Well, he could watch, maybe, see what he thought about it all when it was actually happening in front of him. Parker was always good to look at, it would probably be...interesting...at the very least, and if he didn’t like it, he could tap out with little fuss. He glanced at Eliot, who’d raised himself up on his elbows, spoiling the illusion that he was actually a quadruped. Eliot patted the bed gently, brows lifted in mild invitation. So it looked like Eliot was also on board with the idea of him being there.

“A’ight,” Alec said, mustering his suavity. Stepping away from the door, he did a slow saunter over to the bedroom’s one armchair and sank down into it, arranging himself deliberately into an easygoing, lounging sprawl. “Proceed,” he intoned, waving his hand.

Eliot snorted, but Parker just grinned happily and pivoted back toward the bed.

Human and canine faces were not really designed to slot together, Alec noted. Parker kissed the side of Eliot’s muzzle; he sort of mouthed at her cheek, wearing a baffled expression. After a minute or so, he huffed, sat up, and tugged her to her feet, which made the angles a little less awkward. With his head tilted back, she was better able to access his...well, not lips, exactly, not like people lips, but the front part of his mouth. Cradling his muzzle in her hands, she dropped little kisses on it, chaste pecks at first, then more lingering, exploring him more firmly, more assuredly. He nuzzled back, his mouth opening in an echo of hers as she deepened the kiss—he responded with matching eagerness, pressing forward to meet her, and Parker suddenly broke away.

“Whoa!” she gasped, half laughing as she wiped at her mouth, but also looking slightly shocked and appalled. “Too much tongue!” Ears dipping, Eliot murmured a wordless apology, running a hand soothingly up and down her arm. Changing position once more, he knelt on the bed, sitting back on his heels, then drew her carefully back to him again. As he leaned in, she visibly set herself for another kiss—a little more guarded this time, Alec thought, wary of another surprise—but instead Eliot nosed along her jawline, whuffled gently into her hair. Pulling back, he gave her neck the smallest lick, just a flicker of the very tip of his tongue. Another followed, and another, as he placed those delicate, butterfly tongue-kisses on her cheek, her forehead, the end of her nose. Her eyes slipped closed, and she drew in a shivery breath. Very slowly he traced a line from her chin to her lower lip—he brushed against the seam of her mouth, and when she parted for him, he fluttered his tongue against her lips, barely dipping between them.

They melted into each other this time, trading kisses for licks, their bodies rocking in response to each other as they found a rhythm of give and take. Parker tangled her fingers in Eliot’s mane, and he cupped his hand behind her head—his enormous, furry, clawed hand, and the sight hit Alec hard with a double jolt of reaction. First a flash of alarm, because goddamn, Eliot was _big_ , and even though Alec knew better, _absolutely_ knew better, he couldn’t help thinking that Eliot could crush Parker’s skull with just that one hand, could tear off her face with the fangs that Alec glimpsed each time his jaws parted. But in an instant that was overwritten by the almost shocking realization that seeing Parker and Eliot together like this was, in fact, doing something for him. What had begun as awkward and honestly very silly-looking had turned into an increasingly passionate, surprisingly sensual make out session, and there was a beauty-and-the-beast allure to it, Parker slight and luminously fair against Eliot’s raw but carefully contained animal power.

Eliot’s fingers skimmed her waist, slipping up under her top to bare a swath of pale skin. Parker grinned against his mouth, then drew back slightly, raising her arms above her head to let him strip it up and off, which he did with almost reverent gentleness. Bending his head, he licked an unhurried stripe up her sternum, going from between her breasts up the line of her throat until he was kissing her again, letting her lap her tongue eagerly against his. She pulled away after a moment; bouncing a couple of steps backward, she kicked off her shoes, and then flung herself at him with a gleefully demented whoop.

Eliot rolled with her impact, tumbling onto his back with a grunt as the bed shrieked its distress. ( _Note to self_ , Alec thought: _reinforced custom bed, pronto_.) Parker began shimmying up along his body, a deliberate writhe that pressed as much of herself against him as possible, her breasts sliding against his chest, her hands kneading into his fur like cat paws. Eliot closed his eyes, panting a little, or maybe the loll of his tongue was a canine smile. When Parker got near his face, she lunged—took hold of his mane and yanked his head back, fierce and suddenly, startlingly rough. Growling, she bit at his arched throat, and he yielded with a low groan, going limp underneath her—and holy shit, seeing Eliot submit like that was hot, hot, _hot_ , even if it was roleplay and not real. (And even despite the fact that Parker almost immediately drew back, trying to spit out a clump of fuzz and giggle-snorting. The moment was so very Parker, it was just part of the appeal.) Heat pulsed through Alec, rising into his face, sinking to roil low in his belly, and he had to subtly shift position to adjust himself as his pants started getting just a bit too tight.

At least, he was trying to be subtle, but apparently there was no hiding. Eliot’s nostrils flared; he twisted his head against Parker’s grip to look directly at Alec, and that was definitely a grin. Parker followed Eliot’s gaze and smirked. “Are you _suuuure_ you don’t want any of this?” she teased, stroking Eliot’s chest and rolling her hips to grind softly against his belly. And Alec found himself just sitting there with his mouth open. Because...

...whoa.

Maybe he _didn’t_ just want to be a voyeur after all.

And as Alec’s brain was still processing that, spinning like a GPS being forced to recalculate its route, Eliot patted Parker’s hip. She swung off him; he rolled over and flowed off the bed in one smooth motion, and then started a slow, prowling advance, slinking toward Alec on all fours. The sight was extremely unsettling, a little too much like being stalked by an actual wolf (and there were echoes of the curse form in it, too, just enough to send a dark chill up his spine). His breath came short and his heart pounded, desire and fear all knotted up in each other in the most confusing way, and he sat frozen as Eliot closed the last distance between them.

Rearing back, Eliot planted one hand and then the other on the arms of the chair, bracketing Alec, trapping him with that furry, muscular bulk. Eyes locked onto his—eyes too human to be animal, but just a little too animal to be entirely human—as Eliot leaned in, so close Alec could feel hot breath on his face. He shivered, clinging to the thought of Eliot and Parker together as he stared at Eliot’s mouth, unable to look away. Eliot dipped his head; as if dreaming, he tilted his own up in answer, and—

—and Eliot slurped a wide, wet stripe all up his entire face, dragging from chin to hairline. Even aside from the shock of it, it was the _worst_ —the _absolute worst_ —it was so gross, he had actual wolf drool in his eye and up his nose and—ugh! _Ugh!_

“Aw, _man!_ Why you gotta do me like that?” he whined, wiping at his face. Eliot actually snickered at him, the asshole. Somewhere in the background, Parker was cackling like a fiend. “Yeah, you all think that’s hilarious, don’t you?” he grumbled. Eliot’s hand lifted, reaching toward him, and he flailed at it, fending it off. “Bad Eliot! Bad! No biscuit!”

Eliot caught his hand easily, long fingers enfolding it and holding it still without effort. Ignoring Alec’s defensive glare, Eliot nuzzled his wrist, then gave it one of those little kiss-licks. Which, okay, was not nearly as awful as getting his whole face tongue-bathed. If pressed, he might even even admit it was kind of sweet. Eliot stroked the back of his other hand down Alec’s cheek in the gentlest of caresses, and it was hard to tell through the fur, but Alec could swear that he had the same smile-crinkles around his eyes in wolf form.

He never could resist Eliot smiling at him. “I’m ’a get you back for that,” he promised, just on principle, but he was grinning as he said it, helpless to hold back his love and affection. Eliot rumbled quietly, then pressed his forehead into Alec’s chest. Alec found himself petting Eliot’s head, running fingers through his hair—it was longer and shaggier than in his human form, roots continuing down along his spine to midback, like a lion’s mane—then rubbing at his furry ears. He tugged at one finally, and Eliot sat back, regarded him with a slight head tilt and lift of his brows that could have been question or challenge, but was probably a bit of both. “You gonna treat me right now?” Alec murmured, a teasing challenge of his own.

In answer, Eliot leaned in again. His whiskers skimmed ticklishly along Alec’s jaw, his cool nose nudged at Alec’s neck before he placed another kiss-lick there, then another, a little farther back, his tongue drifting up to curl around the back of Alec’s earlobe, stroking into the hollow behind it, and Alec sucked in a breath, then let out a shuddering hum of pleasure. Once the three of them had gotten together, Eliot had learned his and Parker’s weak spots in record time and was merciless about exploiting them. (It figured—Eliot’s job was basically a punchier version of that, and he was very, _very_ good at his job.) He felt Eliot’s hand slide to rest on his leg, and he looked down, smiled to see how it spanned his entire thigh. Somewhere along the line, fear had faded, leaving behind the spice and wonder of the strange.

“Hardison! Eliot!” Parker half yelled, half moaned from the bed, as Eliot was kissing his unhurried way back around to the front of Alec’s throat. “Get over here!”

“Woman, hold your horses. I am being _seduced_ over here.” Once Parker had gotten past her initial uncertainties and decided that she really, _really_ enjoyed sex, it turned out that her approach to it had a lot in common with her approach to driving or descending a building. He’d coaxed her into some appreciation of the pleasures of going slow, but she quickly got bored if she felt like nothing was happening. One absolute delight in adding Eliot to the mix was that the man could do hot and wild if he felt like it, but he was also perfectly happy to take his time, winding things up and up until Alec felt like he was going to lose his ever-loving mind. He adored Parker and all her quirks, including this one, but the variety was definitely nice.

Eliot nuzzled and licked his chin—nicely this time—then tongued Alec’s lower lip questioningly. Alec yielded to that slight pressure and soon confirmed that there were far sexier ways to swap spit with a werewolf than getting one’s face washed. The tip of Eliot’s tongue flirted with his, never diving too deep or pressing too hard, and the velvet of Eliot’s muzzle was so, so soft when he nuzzled in especially close, breathing warmth into Alec’s mouth. He sank his hands into Eliot’s chest ruff—he could bury them entirely in that thick fur, up to his wrists—and dragged them downward until he discovered Eliot’s nipples, which felt surprisingly humanlike under his fingers. (Were there more, running down along Eliot’s body, like those of an actual wolf? Alec would have to investigate at some point. For science.) Eliot smelled like a well-kept fur coat and subtle animal musk and, somewhat hilariously, like Eliot’s conditioner. Hardison smiled, tilting his head back as Eliot shifted his attentions to his throat, delicately kiss-licking his way down it.

Suddenly Eliot jerked his face away from Alec’s neck. He collapsed onto Alec’s lap with a guttural _unf_ , and Alec looked down along his back to see Parker, who had gotten entirely naked at some point, scratching energetically at the base of his tail, which was flagged high and quivering as his hips jerked up into her hand. “He likes it,” Parker said gleefully.

“ _’Aarkherr_ ,” Eliot snarled. (It was one of his more comprehensible words; his best attempt so far at Alec’s name had come out something like “ _Hhaaarr’jzhnn_.”) Ears pinned back, he glared over his shoulder at her.

“Hey, hey, don’t be doing that when his teeth are this close to my carotid artery,” Alec added. Because accidents were a thing that could happen.

Parker was unmoved. “Come on, boys! Sexy times!” She clapped her hands imperiously. “Chop chop!”

Muttering something that probably translated to _next time I have a knife in my hands, I’ll give you “chop chop,”_ Eliot heaved himself to his feet, turned to face her, and gestured broadly in invitation. When she pounced at him, he scooped her out of midair and slung her over his shoulder, holding her there with one hand on her ass. Parker stiffened at first, startled, then relaxed into it, kicking her feet and laughing, her hair spilling past her face and down Eliot’s back.

“Aw, ain’t you gonna ravish me away too?” Alec mock pouted as he stood, then held his hands up as Eliot turned to stare down at him in a menacingly inscrutable way. “Whoa,” and, “— _whoa!_ ” as Eliot scooped him right off his feet with an arm around his waist and effortlessly carried the both of them to the bed. He tossed them onto the mattress, and before Alec could do more than draw a breath and figure out where all his limbs were, Parker was on him, kissing him forcefully, taking his mouth like a dragon plundering its hoard, and okay, the analogy was breaking down on him, but whatever, Parker was definitely being dragonish, and maybe he should be more concerned about her teeth than Eliot’s. But oh god, it was hot and good, so good, sparks scattering along his nerves, molten heat surging in his core, and his dick, which had been chilling at half-chub for a while, announced its sudden readiness to get down to business. He fumbled at his pants with one hand while the other raked at Parker’s back, encouraging her to keep doing exactly what she was doing. She broke it off anyway, but only to bat his hand out of the way so hers could take its place, undoing button and zip with all the speed of her lockpicking. She shoved her hand down inside, and he gasped, both from that new, sweet pressure and because Parker’s hands were always cold, but her fingers warmed up quickly, down there between his legs, gripping his heat and pumping it firmly. He took advantage of having both hands free to pull her back into kissing range, paying back all the passion of her mouth with his own.

Somewhere in the distance, he felt his shoes being tugged off and then his socks being peeled down, and he panted a breathless chuckle against Parker’s lips, because there was just something really funny about having a werewolf taking off one’s socks. Big hands pulled at his pants legs, and he wriggled, trying to help out but not getting much leverage with Parker straddling him. She realized what was going on, though, and rose up enough to let him lift his hips, pushed his pants and underwear down past his ass, then hauled him upright to wrestle him out of his shirt while Eliot stripped them the rest of the way off. As soon as his head was free, he took advantage of sitting up to kiss Parker’s neck, to run his hands up her sides, thumbs skimming her ribcage, until they could cup and caress her small, perfect breasts. Parker hummed, nearly purring with pleasure.

Down at the end of the bed, Eliot was watching them. Alec hoped it was a good show.

Parker had slowed down at last, matching the rhythm of his lips and stroking hands; they rocked together, her legs clasping his as she rolled her hips up into him like lazy waves lapping on the shore. After a good, satisfying while, she pressed him down again, blanketed him with her body as she returned to kissing his mouth—now deep, now fleeting, almost definitely calculated on her end and utterly, enchantingly unpredictable on his. He curled his hands around the backs of her thighs, encouraging her slow undulations against him. She shifted farther down, nipped at his throat, grazed her teeth over his collarbone, then farther still to run her tongue around and over his nipple, which, they had discovered, was definitely a thing for him. As she licked and nibbled, her fingers played with the other one, and it was a long way from that first time, which had been more like safecracking than sex play. She’d gotten a lot more careful with sensitive places since then.

Suddenly she gasped and turned her head to press her cheek to his chest, her eyes gone wide and a little glazed. Lifting his head, Alec saw Eliot kneeling at the foot of the bed, his upper body draped forward over the mattress and his head between Parker’s legs, his tongue making obscenely wet noises as he slurped at Parker’s pussy. And oh, the sweet, sweet friction as she squirmed, spreading further and pressing back toward Eliot’s tongue, but—“I wanna see,” Alec breathed, and she let him roll them, Eliot lowering his head as Parker swung her leg over it, until she was on her back, legs splayed, Alec’s arm curved behind her. He pushed himself up on his elbow to watch as Eliot resumed his attentions. Eliot was an artist at oral, and now he had the added benefit of having a lot more tongue to work with—delicate traceries and flickers alternated with delving deep, licking into her until she was moaning to his rhythm, legs spreading wider, urging him in. He answered, obeyed, pressing farther, and she cried out, “Oh! It _wriggles_!” Eliot’s eyes glinted, and he did something that made her shriek, bucking her hips up into him as she shuddered and came, and she was beautiful, so beautiful, sweat tangling her hair and her chest surging as she caught her breath, with wolf-Eliot huge and glorious between her legs, looking like some kind of animal god as he served her.

And Eliot didn’t stop, only slowed, caressing her through it, letting her sigh and settle before he started up again—lick, lick, lick against her, an earthquake rumble as he pressed his tongue to her clit. She whined, and he responded by becoming more aggressive, lapping at her more forcefully. Alec glanced at her face to make sure this was okay; her expression was a mix of transport and fierce focus, and her body was taut but not frozen, its tension like an instrument’s string plucked and vibrating into music. Even when Eliot’s hands clasped her hips and jerked her to him, even when they slid under her ass to lift it up, raising her lower half entirely off the bed, she gave herself to it, bracing herself on her arms as she arched up into him. She hooked her ankles behind his neck, crying out as he tongue-fucked down into her, fast and furious, like he had to devour her before she could be stolen, before she could escape. Panting, hungry growls escaped him—she shook with them, keening, and Alec’s hand was on his dick, stroking himself urgently because he couldn’t stand it otherwise, the want just from watching them. He made himself slow down so he could focus, capture the entire moment when Parker threw her head back and cried out, her whole body shaking with the rush as she came again, and he squeezed himself tight so he didn’t follow her over the edge, not yet.

As her quivering eased, Eliot laid her down gently, and she melted into the bed, liquid and heavy with her release. Alec rolled toward her and gave her a brief, slow squish, because she liked that sometimes, coming down from an especially intense high.

“You okay?” he murmured. Glancing up, she gave him a quick, enthused nod, red-faced and smiling, and he nuzzled into her hair. “Babe, that was _so_ hot.”

Eliot had sat back and was licking his chops and looking as smug as a wolf could look. Noticing Alec’s gaze on him, he exchanged a glance with Parker, who smiled evilly. Next thing Alec knew Eliot had climbed up on to the bed ( _creeeak, groan_ ), caught him under the armpits, and hauled him up until he was half sitting, propped against the pillows. On all fours, straddling him, Eliot bent to nudge his muzzle against Alec’s lips, the velvet fur streaked damp with Parker’s slick, and when Alec parted them for Eliot’s tongue, he could taste his girl. A sharp throb of desire went through him. He opened wider, rubbing his own tongue against the underside of Eliot’s in invitation, welcoming him deeper, and yeah, that was a _lot_ of tongue, but Eliot was careful not to fill his mouth with more than he could take, and it was _good_ , almost shockingly good. Even the drool that he couldn’t contain, both his and Eliot’s, didn’t seem so gross anymore—instead, it made him feel dirty and debauched in the best possible way, out of control and loving it as Eliot thrust gently but irresistibly into his mouth. He felt a flicker of loss as Eliot pulled away, but Eliot began lapping at his lips, his chin, up each side of his throat, and the firm thoroughness of those attentions was a similar pleasure, that of being done to, and he luxuriated in it. Down his chest to his abs, a shallow tongue-thrust plumbing his navel, Eliot’s chest fur brushing his thighs and his eager dick—it gradually occurred to him what this all was leading toward, and when Eliot’s parted jaws hovered above his crotch, he couldn’t help freezing up. Eliot paused, mouth still open, looking up at him.

“That is...that is a _lot_ of teeth,” he stammered. “Like, _grandma-eatin’_ teeth.” And they were right there, next to his most delicate bits. He flashed back onto the first time he’d seen Eliot’s monster form, and he could feel his dick thinking about noping right out.

Eliot drew back slightly. Holding Alec’s gaze, he rested a hand on Alec’s leg, thumb brushing along his thigh. “ _Hrrr?_ ” he asked, his expression serious, and somehow Alec knew what he was saying.

“Yeah.” Alec swallowed hard. “I trust you. ’Course I trust you.” Exhaling sharply through his nose, he tried to convince himself to relax as Eliot bent toward him again.

And Eliot placed the softest lingering kiss-lick on the head of Alec’s dick. Closing his eyes, he nuzzled into Alec’s groin, cool, damp nose and delicate whiskers pressing close as Eliot snuffled at him, gentle but increasingly intent—breathing in his scent, Alec realized with a flush of confused heat, because while it was kind of embarrassing to have someone blatantly smelling his crotch, there was also something strangely sexy about it, especially when Eliot groaned long and low, like Alec’s pheromones or whatever were setting off slow fireworks inside that wolfish brain. Eyes still shut, Eliot dragged his tongue up Alec’s length, almost torturously unhurried, like he wanted to explore Alec’s taste in just as much depth and detail as he had Alec’s scent.

“Oh, hey! It’s peeking out,” Parker announced, breaking into the moment. She was lying perpendicular to them, stretched out on her back, inspecting Eliot’s undercarriage like he was a car, and after a blink of confusion Alec realized that she had to be talking about Eliot’s dick. Normally wolf-Eliot’s junk was tucked politely away, hidden inside a sheath that mostly blended in with his belly fur, but apparently it had decided to join the party. “It’s cute,” Parker added brightly.

Eliot’s eyes had opened wide at the interruption—he had one ear up and one ear down, like he wasn’t sure he liked having his werewolf dick called cute, and the tip of his tongue was caught between his teeth. _He blep_ , and Alec couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. Eliot huffed at them both; turning, he shooed Parker off with a warning _grrff_. She rolled away, resettling herself where she could watch them both, smiling impishly. Alec blew her a kiss, and she wiggled her fingers at him in a tiny wave. Muttering grumpily, Eliot turned back and eyed Alec, clearly challenging him to comment. Alec smirked but restrained himself (because there was time to be a smartass and a time not to antagonize the werewolf boyfriend who was about to give you a blowjob), and Eliot bent to resume what he’d been doing.

And yeah, that was good, that was nice, as Eliot licked him, starting with firm, regular strokes before changing things up, varying the speed and pressure, pausing to lap and swirl over the head of Alec’s dick, and ooh, baby, that tongue wriggle sure did some interesting things when Eliot found just the right spots. Alec squirmed in pleasure, and Eliot leaned on him, not heavily, just enough to keep his hips where they were. That was the first clue; the second was Eliot gently angling Alec’s dick toward him, and Alec’s heart revved, upshifting a couple of gears in excitement and nervous anticipation as Eliot’s jaws parted farther, more than wide enough to take him in. Eliot’s tongue lolled out, protecting Alec from his lower teeth as he went down, not so different from the licking except for the warm, damp heat that surrounded him. In and out, cautiously, then more assuredly as Alec relaxed into it, because yeah, this was totally going to work. Eliot’s lips weren’t constructed to wrap around him, but Eliot curled them in over his upper teeth as best he could, and when he carefully closed his mouth, they brushed up and down along Alec’s length. Two different sensations at the same time, the light skimming of Eliot’s lips and the firmer friction of Alec’s dick rubbing against his tongue as he bobbed his head, taking Alec deeper, a little deeper, and _holy shit there were ridges on the roof of his mouth_.

“ _Whoa!_ —no, no, don’t stop!” he blurted as Eliot froze. “Keep going, keep doing that.” Eliot looked like he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done, but he resumed his movements, and Alec sucked in a breath, because oh god, oh yeah—how did the condom package put it?— _ribbed for his enjoyment_. Eliot did some experimenting with different angles and pressures, evaluating each gasp and twitch and shiver like he would the effect of a new flavor profile, and when he was satisfied, he focused in and started playing Alec for real. And oh, oh, oh, that, that right there, _so good_ as his dick dragged deliciously over Eliot’s ridges, Eliot’s tongue curling under and around him, stroking and guiding, flicking teasingly at his balls on the downstrokes, as his pleasure rose and fell in waves, each time a little higher than before. Building until he moaned with it, trying helplessly to arch against Eliot’s grip, and when Eliot rumbled around him he almost came right then. But not quite, not quite, he needed, _needed_ —and Eliot pulled off with one last, long lick. The air was a sudden chill on his skin, but before he could complain lithe fingers, Parker’s fingers, very slick and no longer so cold, took its place. She jerked him just like he wanted as Eliot’s tongue lapped at the base of his dick and then went to town on his balls, rolling and kneading. Delving down underneath them, it pressed hard against his perineum just as Parker did that one particular twisting stroke, and—boom, liftoff, he was going up and out on a blinding streak of release, shaking with it, oh god, oh god, _oh god...._

When that orgasmic rush ebbed, letting him float contentedly back into himself, his first really conscious thought was _dang, that was a good one_. The second was _hello, somebody is licking my stomach._ Lifting his head, he pried one eye open and squinted down his body to see Eliot cleaning the come off his belly with slow, lazily sensual licks, his eyes alight with self-satisfaction. When he finished, Parker held out her messy hand, and he attended to that as well, dipping his tongue in between her fingers to get every trace.

“Baby, that was _amazing_ ,” Alec told him, then added with a smirk, because he just couldn’t help himself, “You can blow my house down any time.” Eliot rolled his eyes, growled, and made like he was going to bite Alec’s leg, but Alec thought he still looked pleased with himself, and deservedly so.

“Your turn,” Parker put in, grinning. She tugged on Eliot’s fur. “Come on, boy. Roll over.”

With a groan, Eliot flopped over onto his back, and Alec finally got a look at his dick. Fully unsheathed, it lay exposed along his belly, eye-catchingly rosy against the pale cream fur. And it was big, all right, seriously big, but not...unmanageable? (He’d seen horse dick on that racetrack job. That shit was _terrifying_.) Proportionally it was actually on the small side, considering his body size (although still longer than Alec’s, not that he was the kind of insecure person who’d worry about something like that); it was slim and tapered at the tip, with a thicker bulge at the base. Parker fondled it, tracing its length, testing its length and weight in her hand. When she ran an exploratory finger around the edge of his sheath, dipping just inside it, Eliot went _ourouu_ , his leg thumping against the mattress, and Alec cracked up.

Eliot, glared at him, eyes narrowed. “ _Fugkh’oo_ ,” he snarled.

“Gesundheit,” Alec said cheerfully, and Eliot flipped him the bird.

Parker caught his hand and inspected it. “You filed your claws for us,” she said. Eliot dipped his muzzle in a slightly bashful nod, and she smiled. She kissed his fingertips, where the short fur gave way to bare pads (and make no mistake, Alec had teased him plenty about those finger- and toe-beans), then straddled him, guiding his hands to where she wanted them, cupped about her waist as she began to rock her hips, sliding her pussy against the length of his dick. He grunted, his eyes shuttering as his hands rode her body, not moving her so much as encouraging her motion with subtle pressure. They stroked up her back, and she arched catlike against them; when they slid down to cradle her ass and squeeze, she made a soft sound of pleasure and tipped forward, grinding more firmly. She rolled against Eliot like she was dancing with lasers, but the goal was to be caressed by them, not to avoid them. And damn, Alec loved the way she danced—they both did—so supple, so focused and flowing, existing entirely in the moment and in her body. So beautiful, their girl.

When she finally stilled her rhythm, it was to raise herself up and reach down underneath her, capturing Eliot’s dick in her hand. It was already glistening, wet with her juices. She brushed the tip against herself a few times, tracing her own folds consideringly, as if she was doing last-minute geometry, like the way she’d turn the pieces of a plan around inside her head. Or maybe she was just stringing them along; Eliot’s breath hitched at each stroke, and Alec felt a little curl of heat flicker to life in him, stirred up by the teasing. Not quite in, not quite out, and then, at last, she began to settle down onto him in slow stages, taking an inch or two and riding it before sinking farther, and then even farther. Eliot’s legs quivered with the strain of holding still for her—and when she jolted, a sudden yelp escaping her, he froze absolutely rigid. Eyes wide, he gave an anxious little whine.

“I’m okay,” Parker panted. She offered him a slightly flustered, apologetic smile. “I just...think that’s all I can take.” Between her slick-shined thighs, Alec could see several inches of Eliot’s dick still exposed, and somehow that was super hot, _unbelievably_ hot: the sheer too-muchness of how it just wouldn’t all fit inside her, and also the way that flushed, naked column connected the two of them, like it was making them one.

“Baby, you are doing _fantastic_ ,” he murmured reverently. “Ain’t that right, Eliot?”

“ _Mmhnn_.” Eliot’s thumbs stroked her thighs. His gaze drew up slowly from where his dick disappeared into her to her face. He couldn’t blush—or if he could, it wasn’t visible with all the fur—but if he’d been human-Eliot he’d be red down to the chest. Instead, his half-lidded eyes conveyed all his desire, dilated to near black, burning like the corona of an eclipse. His lip had drawn back slightly, revealing a hint of fang. But his hands were still careful on her.

Parker brushed a sweaty lock of hair out of her face, then grinned at Alec. “Hardison, get up here and help me out.”

“Yes, _ma’am_!” He was all in on that—he wanted so bad to get his hands in there, to feel the heat of them, the way they’d stretch and strain and move together. There was room in behind Parker, and he settled himself there, pressing himself up against her back, his already rehardening dick captured in between them. She began to move again, and he rocked with her, joining in her rhythm, his hands sliding over the front of her torso. His left hand traveled upward to play with her breasts, while the right journeyed down to finger through the soft curls around her sex, to find and circle around and over her clit as she half gasped, half chuckled her delight. Lower then, his fingertips caressing her labia, spread wide to take in Eliot’s girth, then the dick itself, smooth and hot and slick. Eliot rumbled like an earthquake, and his hands shifted from Parker to cup Alec’s ass and pull him closer, urging them to grind together. And together they rode him, Alec’s hand working both Parker and Eliot, sometimes separately, sometimes at the same time—and _ah, ah, ah_ , Parker breathed, pitch rising sharply as her movements started to speed up. Alec gripped the lower part of Eliot’s dick and pumped it in time to her rise and fall, taking what she couldn’t so she no longer had to be careful, and Eliot whined, panting as she bore down on him more fiercely. His fingers tightened, pulling Alec even more firmly against Parker, and Alec groaned at the crush of Parker’s sweet ass against his own trapped and throbbing dick. Her pace faltered at last, became stuttering and erratic, until finally she shuddered, crying out harshly as her orgasm shook her. Alec pressed his thumb against her clit, working her through it until her muscles relaxed and she let out a long, sighing groan.

“Good, baby?” Alec murmured.

“Mmhmm.” She brushed some hair back out of her face and smiled down at Eliot. “Poor Eliot still needs to get off, though.”

Eliot stroked the backs of his fingers against her cheek, then brought them down to rest against her belly. “ _Rr?_ ”

“Yeah, I can go again.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Hardison?”

“Don’t worry about me; I’m just dyin’ back here.” Alec laughed, taking the complaint out of his words. “Go, go on, take care of our boy.”

Parker started up again, moving deliberately now, rather than urgently, focusing on Eliot, and Alec sat back a little, letting her do her thing. Her finesse and control were amazing, even a little alarming, considering how short a time she’d been doing this. His girl could break a learning curve like nobody’s business.

(Though Alec actually wasn’t quite sure what her previous experience had been. When asked if she’d had sex before them, she’d said _not like this_ , which had been vague, if not outright evasive. But she’d been smiling when she said it, which meant she was happy and it was a compliment, and he wasn’t going to wake any of her ghosts by prying further. If she ever wanted to say, she’d say.)

So Alec watched and admired the show, but as time went by he began to get a little concerned. He’d’ve been done and gone in under two minutes, but Parker and Eliot went until her chest was heaving and Eliot was starting to look a little desperate. Were they missing something? Was there some special werewolf need—smells, maybe, or those butt scritches, or a particular grip? Eying the visible part of Eliot’s dick, he noticed the bulge at its base again. Reaching out, he gave it an experimental squeeze, and Eliot jolted with a startled grunt. “Yes? Good?” Alec asked.

“ _Uh!_ ” He trailed off into a pleading whimper as Alec squeezed again.

“ _There_ we go,” Alec murmured, feeling smug. He put an arm around Parker, helping to support her. “Let’s do this, baby.”

And as she fucked down onto Eliot, calling on some reserve of fierce energy, Alec wrapped his hand around Eliot’s bulge. He tried pumping it at first, and Eliot whined, but it didn’t sound like _oh thank fuck, I’m finally coming_ , so Alec went back to what had seemed to work. He squeezed it firmly—a little tighter—then tighter again, Eliot’s panting hitching harder at each increase—he finally clamped down on it with a pressure that he would’ve found painful, and Eliot’s hips jerked violently, leaving the bed. Parker yelped as she bucked up, trying to ride the motion, and only the fact that she and Alec were holding onto each other kept them from being tumbled off. And Eliot’s dick was _swelling_ , getting fatter and fatter, straining Parker’s pussy. “ _Holy_ _shit!_ ” Alec swore, shocked.

“ _Oh!_ ” Parker wailed. _“Oh, oh, a-ah—!_ ”

“Are you okay?” God damn, he hoped she was. He was ready to drag her off if he had to. If he even _could_. Jesus Christ. “Baby, you okay? Talk to me.”

“Ye-he-heah,” she wheezed. “It’s j-just—” She threw her head back against his shoulder, throat jerking as she swallowed.

And finally— _finally_ —just as Alec was starting to panic, Eliot’s dick stopped growing. Eliot moaned like he was dying, and his dick shuddered in Alec’s hand, pulsing as he came. He came and _came_ —god _damn_ —waves of spurting that would ebb until Alec thought he was finished, and then start up again. Somehow Parker held on, though her legs were shaking; by the third wave, she was rubbing frantically at her clit, grunting and gasping in need, as if an orgasm was the only way to keep herself from exploding. It was crazy and too much and almost scary, but Jesus, if his hands weren’t occupied, he’d be jerking himself like a fiend.

Pushed to the edge, it didn’t take Parker long to come, and as she shivered and clenched on Eliot as best she could, it seemed to wring the last out of him too. His dick gave a final twitch, and his body went completely slack, like he was a giant floppy stuffed animal. Parker’s legs gave out; she slumped forward, and Alec helped to lower her down until she was lying on Eliot’s belly. They just lay there for a while, breathing hard, and Alec was relieved to see Eliot’s dick shrinking back to normal.

Parker stirred first. “Are we done?” she whispered. Eliot gave a little huff and petted her head. Taking that for an answer, she squirmed off his dick, then rolled away and scrambled off the bed with unusual awkwardness. “Bathroom. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom!”

Alec gave a shaky laugh as she bolted from the room. “Oh god,” he breathed. “That was, that was... _epic_.” Raising his voice, he called, “You okay, baby? You need anything?”

“No, I’m good.” Parker’s voice was hoarse, but she did sound all right, and he figured she’d be back as soon as she’d cleaned up some. She’d left a _trail_ , and that was really gross, but also awe-inspiring. He wondered just how much come Eliot had actually pumped into her.

His own dick felt like it was about to spontaneously combust, and when he fisted it, the sound that escaped him would probably have been excruciatingly embarrassing if he’d cared about anything in that moment except getting off as quickly as possible. It got Eliot’s attention, though, and he lifted his head just enough to peer down his nose at Alec. More specifically, right at Alec’s dick. If Alec hadn’t already been burning up with his arousal, it would’ve made him flush.

“Y-yeah. You guys were so hot together. _So. Hot._ ” He groaned as he stroked himself, replaying the images in his mind: Eliot so _big_ everywhere, overwhelmingly so, and all of it theirs, as much as they could take; Parker riding that monster dick like a hero, her body arching back against his as she shook and and shook and came. Her warm slick was still on his fingers as he gripped himself; the room smelled not just of sex but of wolf sex, pungent and musky. And the three of them hadn’t done any butt stuff before now, but he was suddenly overcome by the mental picture of Eliot fucking _him_. It made him feel hot all over, dizzy and a little faint. He didn’t even know if he could take all that dick, but the thought of it made his balls tighten up in a good way. “God,” he mumbled, hardly even knowing what he was saying, “god...you gonna do me like that sometime? Huh? Like you did Parker?”

He’d thought Eliot was too fucked out to move—it startled him when Eliot curved an arm around him and pulled him up the bed. Draping one leg over his and leaning into him, pinning Alec with just a fraction of his body, Eliot took over stroking him. Eliot’s hand absolutely engulfed him, but the pressure was just right, and the textures of skin and fur were so good on his super-sensitized dick. He moaned helplessly, tangling his hands in Eliot’s pelt as he pressed up into that immovable weight. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Eliot, El, _yeah,_ oh god, _please_ —"

“ _Arrekh_ ,” Eliot growled against him, his breath a hot zephyr on Alec’s cheek, “ _Aarrrrekhh_ ,” and he was over the edge and falling, falling like he’d never done before. He muffled his yell in Eliot’s chest, fingers clenching the fur, and Eliot was the last thing he felt before the explosive whiteout took him, the pleasure of it raw and scintillating, consuming every last one of his senses, and the first thing he felt when he shivered back into himself, his nerves still singing some ineffable cosmic note.

“Wow!” Parker said from somewhere behind him. “To think I almost missed that!”

The what now? Did he need to understand what she was talking about? No...no, he did not. If it was anything important, they could talk about it tomorrow, because at that moment he was all fuzzy and blissed out and suddenly really, really tired. And happy, too, inexpressibly happy, as Eliot sighed a heavy wolf sigh against him and nuzzled his face. Drifting, he was vaguely aware of Eliot’s tongue cleaning him off, of a briefly annoying chill, and then at last of warm covers and even warmer fur surrounding him. He settled closer to his werewolf—their werewolf—their wonderful, wonderful werewolf—their _Eliot_ —and smiled as sleep finally took control.

When he finally awoke, after what was probably the best sleep he’d ever had, he was still being snuggled, but sans fur. Human-form Eliot was wrapped around him, one arm thrown across his chest, his leg hooked over Alec’s, and his stubbly chin on Alec’s shoulder, because Eliot was a full-contact cuddler, which was something Alec appreciated. As he lay there enjoying Eliot’s solid warmth pressed against him, memories of the night before came floating back to him, and...wow. That had been a thing they had done. And that. And… _that_. It was too soon after waking up to sort through all the feelings he was probably going to have about the whole thing, so he focused on the straightforward fact that they had had some amazing, mind-blowing, over-the-top sex and that his whole body was still reveling in it. Sighing in contentment, he started to stretch—the least little bitty stretch, barely tensing his muscles, but Eliot’s eyes flicked open, instantly alert. He’d gotten used to that sudden, close-range stare; it rarely startled him anymore. (Although he still hadn’t managed to figure out whether Eliot was always awake before him or just had a hair-trigger awareness even when sleeping.)

“Hey,” he murmured, offering Eliot a lazy smile. Eliot responded with a rumbly monosyllabic grunt, but his eyes went half lidded and crinkly at the corners, and the curve of his mouth was affectionate.

“You’re awake!” Parker had appeared at the foot of the bed, already dressed. She was grinning happily, but also projecting the impatient energy that meant she’d been waiting on them for a while.

“Girl, how are you even _walking_ this morning?” Alec said, and she laughed.

“You should’ve seen me when I got up! I was all like—” she did a hilarious little penguin-shuffle in place. “But I walked it off.”

“You walked it—”

“Did some stretches and stuff.” She demonstrated one that involved raising her foot up above shoulder height, and it reminded Alec once again that his girl was some kind of superhuman. “Unlike _some_ people,” she started rapid-fire poking the soles of Alec’s feet through the covers, forcing him to jerk them away, “who’ve been asleep all morning.”

“Yeah, man.” Eliot had pushed himself up on one elbow enough to be able to smirk down at him. “I dunno why you passed out—you weren’t even the one getting dicked down last night.” There was an alarmingly wicked glint in his eyes, and Alec was abruptly slapped upside the head with the realization that not only had he basically asked to have Eliot’s ginormous werewolf dick up his ass at some point in the indefinite future, but Eliot _remembered_ it.

“I, I, I was having _sympathetic_ fatigue, you know, like, like a sympathetic pregnancy.” Oh god. What the ever-loving fuck was coming out of his mouth? He was saved from the need to pull the covers up over his head by Parker flinging herself onto the bed behind Eliot, making the mattress bounce. Eliot turned to look at her, and his hair ended up in Alec’s face. Alec blew the strands away from his mouth, grateful for the distraction. “Hey, man, love the hair, but not for breakfast.”

“You know what I want for breakfast?” Parker asked, then immediately answered her own question. “Waffles!”

“Waffles, huh?” Eliot said, and from the tone of his voice Alec could picture his tolerant smile. “Okay, go and get the iron started.” She dashed off, and Eliot sat up, stretched, and then gave Alec a love-smack on the thigh before getting out of bed. Alec watched him cross the room to the dresser, scratching lightly at his stomach, and it was true, werewolf-Eliot was a majestic beast and an amazingly hot sexual adventure, but in his regular, everyday human form? Their guy was _fiiiiine_.

Eliot pulled on a t-shirt and boxers, tied back his hair, made a quick pitstop in the bathroom, and then wandered off toward the kitchen, leaving Alec to come to grips with the fact that if he wanted delicious waffles, he was going to have to get up sooner rather than later. Groaning, he finally rolled himself upright and went to take care of his own business.

He had certainly learned some things about himself last night, he mused as he washed his hands. For instance, A) it turned out that he actually _was_ a furry, or at the very least furry-adjacent, and B) he apparently had a raging size kink. In general, his life had been just full of revelations since Parker had uncovered the fact that their Eliot was a werewolf.

Including the stark discovery that he was capable of pulling the trigger on the deaths of other human beings.

Not the first time that realization had come up and slugged him in the face since then, nor the first time his memory had flashed horrific images across his mind: the trail of brutally mangled bodies that Eliot had left behind him. He had to close his eyes and shake himself to break the spell. Glancing back up at his reflection in the mirror, he found it hard to believe there was no visible sign on him, no mark of Cain, not even that _look_ that Eliot got in his eyes sometimes, the still, hard stare that burned right through you, that said he knew exactly how to break you, just give him a reason. He tried to imitate it, just as an experiment, and the result was simultaneously so ridiculous and so appalling that he had to remove himself from the bathroom immediately.

God, how had Nate done it all those years, giving the orders to Eliot, saying things like _do your worst_ without hesitation.

Answer: Nate was a scary-ass son of a bitch, that was how.

Alec pulled on shorts and a bathrobe (it was definitely a comfy bathrobe kind of morning) and went to see what his partners were up to in the kitchen. Parker was poking at the tester waffle, while Eliot was in the midst of frying up some steak and eggs, because the morning after a wolf night always meant that he was desperately craving protein. He was grinning at Parker, wisps of stray hair falling loose around his face, his expression as relaxed and open as it ever got. Leaning against the door frame, Alec watched the two of them together, and the clench in his stomach started to ease.

Because it hadn’t been just him, had it? They’d shared that, him and Eliot, both taking the responsibility, him for the idea and Eliot for the doing of it. And it _wasn’t_ like with Nate, not at all—not mastermind and hitter, never an order, not even a direction given, just two parts of a whole arriving at the same place, coming to the same conclusion. One that had been inevitable, honestly.

Because for Parker, for Eliot, he’d cross that line again, and he already knew they’d do the same for him with even less hesitation. He didn’t _want_ to, of course, and god willing he’d never have to, but he would. He knew perfectly well that the two of them tried to protect him from such necessities, and he appreciated their love for him, but it wasn’t fair. There were three to carry the burdens. There were three to give and receive the love.

And none of them had to be a lone wolf anymore.

“ _Hardison!_ ” Eliot’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and he refocused on the two of them: Eliot with his strong, scarred hands holding the skillet and spatula, with his broad shoulders and his bare feet with their crooked toes; Parker with the first waffle already speared on her fork, her bright eyes gleaming with delight as she bit into it. “Do you want breakfast or not?”

“ _Arrooo_ ,” he murmured, smiling, and went to do his part and get the plates and silverware out.


End file.
